


Teasing the Bowstrings

by hookedontaronfics



Category: British Actor RPF, Taron Egerton - Fandom
Genre: Archery, F/M, Feelings, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Robin Hood 2018 - Freeform, Sexual Humor, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-10-13 00:35:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20573534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hookedontaronfics/pseuds/hookedontaronfics
Summary: A/N: This fluffy fic was generated off a prompt and I don’t think y’all will ever look at archery the same way again! I had a lot of fun writing it, and I hope you enjoy reading it too! xPrompt: Hi, what about a reader x taron one where the reader is his teacher for archery for the robin hood movie and they develop feelings for each other?





	Teasing the Bowstrings

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Some light cursing, some very brief allusions to sex [but no actual smut - at least not yet…]

There you were, perched on your forearms and toes, every muscle in your body straining to keep you in that position as the sweat dripped from your face. You checked your stopwatch again - this had to be the slowest possible minute in the world. You sucked in your breath and held it, closing your eyes and relying on your mental toughness to stick it out as your muscles started shaking, before the little beep told you you could collapse to the mat in utter exhaustion.  _ Five minutes. _ You had made it in the plank five whole minutes, a new personal best.

Friday morning burns truly were the best.

You finished your morning routine at the gym with some light stretching before hitting the showers, using the soap to massage your sore muscles as you went. Even though you were already fit, today’s training session had kicked your ass and you knew you were going to feel it for days.

Once you had finished rinsing off, you dressed quickly in a pair of sweatpants and a sports bra and tanktop, and checked your phone only to find six missed texts from Lars asking you for a massive favor.

<Yeah, what do you need Lars?> you asked, wondering if it would interfere with your afternoon plans.

<Something came up and I can’t make my 11 a.m. client. Would you mind? I can send over the agenda but it’s nothing you haven’t done before. I’d really rather not cancel if I don’t have to.>

<Yeah, sure, no prob. I’m already on this end of town. I’ll just swing by the training center.> You texted back, hurrying to your car and tossing your gym bag in the back. You had just enough time to grab a cold-pressed green juice from your favorite place on the way over. A surprise archery session wasn’t exactly out of the picture ever since you’d become Lars Andersen’s assistant. You were one of the top-ranked amateur competitive archers in the UK; it was a title you rather enjoyed wearing. Learning the art of trick archery, well, that had just become a fun hobby to add to your resume.

Your phone pinged with the client’s lesson agenda. You opened the text and scrolled through the document quickly as you waited in the drive-thru for your juice. Most of it seemed pretty elementary. Clearly you were working with someone who didn’t have much practice, if any at all.  _ T. Egerton.  _ Hmmm, you didn’t recognize the name right off hand, but this should be an easy session so you didn’t worry too much about it.

You made it across town to the training center with a few minutes to spare, and checked in at the front, handing over a list of equipment for check out. The entire obstacle room had been rented out, which surprised you.  _ Why would Lars book that out for a private session with a newbie? _ you wondered as you hoisted the bag of bows and arrows and guards onto your shoulder, thanked the clerk and wandered off down the hall past the main training and target range areas, still clutching your green juice in your hand.

You pulled the door open and stepped inside, your eyes quickly assessing where each target was in practiced fashion. You didn’t even notice you did it; it had just simply been ingrained in you after years of training. You tsk’d slightly to yourself as the room was actually quite a mess; you went off to arrange a few targets how you wanted them, waiting on Lars’ client to show up. Soon enough the door opened and a bright-eyed man strode in, brimming with energy and apologizing profusely for being late.  _ By one minute. _ Oh boy, this might be interesting, you thought as you went over to greet him.

“The name’s y/n, nice to meet you. I’m Lars’ assistant, on occasion. He couldn’t make it and asked me to take over your session for today,” you said, offering your hand.

“Taron,” he just grinned, taking your hand and giving it a firm shake. You looked him over; he was incredibly unassuming in a sweatshirt and jeans, a ballcap pulled low over his eyes.

“Just Taron?” you laughed at that, though you already knew his last name from the agenda sheet.

He just grinned back at you. “I figured you already knew who I was,” he said sheepishly and shoved his hands in his pockets, almost a bit nervously.

“Yeah sorry, I don’t,” you said with a shrug.

“I’ve been in a few films,” he chuckled. “All of this,” he said, gesturing around him, “is for a new film about Robin Hood, which I’m to be in. I play Rob,” he said with a grin you couldn’t deny was adorable.

“I mean, obviously. The great archer himself,” you laughed lightly. “I can see it.”

“I’m actually quite grateful for some anonymity. It’s not always easy when everyone seems to have an idea of who you are already,” he admitted, and you wondered why he was being so open with you.

“Well, I only judge people based on how well they shoot, so, shall we get started?” you ask, going to the bag of equipment and pulling out a bow. To Lars’ credit, he kept meticulous notes so you knew what Taron had already trained with and what he hadn’t. Warming him up was probably a good idea, so you started with the ten-pound bow and some simple target practice. He seemed comfortable enough with it, and you watched his form carefully, partly to issue corrections, and partly because you found him just so damn attractive. The way his biceps rippled as he handled the bow made you a bit weak in the knees. Not that you’d tell him that; you would always stay professional. That was your job, and besides, you were sure he had to have a girlfriend or something. Someone as sweet and polite as he was must have been snatched up quickly.

You shook those thoughts out of your mind as you moved Taron to a twenty-pound bow, walking around him as he held his formation for you, inspecting him at every angle.  _ Thank God this is only going to be one session _ , you thought as you pushed his elbow up ever so slightly. You were already finding it hard to keep your hands to yourself, precisely because you had to adjust him constantly. He understood what he was supposed to do, but maintaining that form was another matter. Still, you could tell he was a quick study, and he often laughed at himself when he just totally failed to make the mark, which made your job just that much easier. You always hated working with guys who were egotistical and always blamed you when they couldn’t get their arrow straight, rather than their bad form they ignored you pointing out. Taron was coachable, and that made him fun to be around.

“Alright, well, you’ve proven that you can hit a target with some level of consistency, but can you do it while moving about?” you smirked at him, wondering if he’d be willing to bite at the challenge, and of course he was game.

“I’m probably going to fail massively, but I say we give it a try, yeah?” he chuckled.

“Just remember your fundamentals, you’ll be fine,” you grinned at him.

“Remember your fundamentals, she says. Fundamentals you’ve spent years perfecting,” he said. “Alright then, let’s get on with it.”

_ Cheeky bastard _ , you thought to yourself as you outlined some moving drills for him, ones you thought were rather easy but that seemed to throw him totally off because he wasn’t hitting a damn thing, and you could tell he was getting frustrated at himself.

“Why don’t we take a break for a moment,” you suggested, but he wasn’t interested in stopping.

“I’m going to get this, you’ll see,” he said, sweat already staining the collar of his sweatshirt as he made attempt after attempt and, admittedly, getting closer and closer to at least hitting the targets. Taron was determined, you’d give him that. He was quite out of breath when he finally stopped, pointing proudly at the arrow he’d managed to sink just outside of the bullseye. “See that right there?” he grinned, pretty proud of himself and making you giggle despite yourself.

“Alright, alright,” you laughed as you grabbed a water bottle for him, but as you went to hand it to him you noticed that his bowstring hand was completely torn up.

“Taron, shit. Let me see that,” you gasped, grabbing his hand and forgetting your professionalism for a moment as you inspected the torn skin.

“It’s alright,” he shrugged but you knew it had to be painful. You’d experienced much the same as a novice over the years.

“Yeah, well, the last thing you need is an infection so let’s get that cleaned up.” You made him sit and rest while you went to retrieve the first aid kit from the front desk, and he calmly let you doctor up his hand. He didn’t jerk away when you put the antiseptic on, nor when you ever-so-carefully clipped away the ruined skin. You could feel his eyes on you, watching you go about your task, and you had no idea what he was thinking behind that green-eyed gaze. Touching his hands made you feel a thrill you were trying desperately to ignore, though.

You wrapped some gauze around his fingers, making sure he wouldn’t lose any function with them, and taped it all up. “There, how does that feel?” you asked.

“Mmm, dare I say better,” he said, wriggling them at you. “And I’m quite sure you could do all of that better too,” he chuckled, waving vaguely at the course you’d set up for him.

You gave him a smirk before grabbing a recurve bow, rather than the longbow Taron had been training with. You slung the quiver around your shoulder but pulled four arrows into your hand at once, making Taron’s eyes go wide. You effortlessly leaped and spun and twirled through the course, hitting your targets every time, and barely breaking a sweat over it.

“Now you’re just showing off!” he laughed as you tossed your hair back over your shoulder.

“Oh no, Mr. Egerton, that wasn’t showing off at all,” you smirked, before rummaging in your bag for something that could be made into a makeshift blindfold. You set up a single target about 50 meters away, before pacing between two poles and marking the stride distance in your head. This was one of your favorite tricks Lars had taught you, and you were hoping it wouldn’t fail you now in front of Taron. You wrapped the blindfold around your eyes, took up your bow and notched an arrow, and then ran backwards, mentally marking the space where the target should be in that space. You drew the bowstring back in the middle of your leap, nudged the tip of the arrow down ever so slightly and let it fly, hearing the satisfying thwack as the tip hit the target and you landed on your feet and let your continued momentum backwards absorb the shock.

“Holy shit,” Taron gasped at that, making you giggle slightly.

“Now _ that  _ was showing off,” you grinned, as you heard him walk over to you. Blindfolded like this made you rely on your other senses, and you analyzed his footfalls and stride and mentally calculated the picture in your head of where he was at that moment. It was something you’d practiced for years, hitting targets blind and learning how to shoot around corners and visualize where in any given space someone or something could be. He walked softly, you noticed, carrying himself upwards, and you could also tell that despite being sweaty he still had a marked sweetness to his scent.

_ Why was he so close?  _ you thought the instant before he lifted the blindfold slowly off your eyes, his intense gaze staring straight into yours. “Can you show me how to do that?” he asked, a bit breathlessly even though he’d been sitting down. A small shiver made its way through your body as his fingers had brushed lightly over your face.

“To shoot double-blind?” you said, a bit startled to be standing so close to him. You could see the light stubble shadowing his jawline and the individual color specks in his eyes. “That takes years to perfect. And probably not necessary for your film either,” you added with a laugh.

“No, I don’t mean that,” he chuckled. “The way you barely look like you’re working when you pull the bow back. I look like I’m wrestling a steer when I do it!”

You snorted at that, because he wasn’t wrong. “Alright then, get in your position,” you said, cringing at how that sounded but Taron didn’t miss a beat, focused on the task at hand. He pulled the dummy arrow back and froze in place and you sighed at his white knuckles; typical rookie mistake.

“Loosen these,” you said, tapping on the fingers he had wrapped tightly around the bow grip itself. “You don’t need to hold onto the bow for dear life. It’s not going to go anywhere, I promise. You want your grip to be steady but flexible. It let’s the bow vibrate the way it should in your hand as the arrow leaves its rest. It will fly straighter and won’t fatigue your hand and arm as much either, and in the middle of a competition the last thing you want is a hand cramp.”

“That sounds terrible,” he agreed with a laugh, doing his best to adjust his grip on the bow.

“And as for your other hand, well, you just need to think about teasing the bowstring,” you said, getting an eyebrow raise at that.

“Teasing it?” he smirked at you, even with the notch of the arrow pressed against the side of his mouth as he sighted the target. You had to admit, the way he was standing made him look powerful and athletic and, well, kind of hot.

“Yeah, like a woman. I assume you’ve had practice?” you smirked back, making Taron lose his composure completely. He managed to drop his arrow and then his bow and you couldn’t tell whether he was laughing or crying or maybe both, but it took a solid ten minutes before he managed to gain control again.

“Never thought of archery that way,” he said, wiping his face lightly.

“Everything comes back to sex, don’t you know it?” you smirked at him, handing him back his bow. “This is your woman, treat her well,” you joked.

“Well, I haven’t got any others right now,” he said, running his hand gently over the wood. You had no idea why he’d volunteered this information, but even though it surprised you, you filed it away in your brain all the same.

You picked up your own bow and showed him exactly what you meant by teasing the bowstring - to keep your fingers light but also firm around the nock, giving the arrow a chance to move in the natural way it was meant to but without too much give; pulling back the string at once both carefully but also with authority. “And when you feel you’ve reached the point of no return, where the bowstring might give out if you pull it back any further, that’s when you let it go,” you said, moving your thumb ever so slightly to release the pressure, sighting the arrow’s path all the way down its shaft as it left the riser and made its flight across the room, only to sink squarely in the bullseye. “See? Simple,” you said, looking over at Taron to find his mouth hanging slightly open. “Oh, did I lose you?” you laughed.

“No, I get what you’re saying. I just … don’t think I’ll ever have the finesse you have. You’re quite stunning,” he said, his eyes sweeping over you and making you blush despite yourself.

“It just takes practice,” you said, brushing off the compliment because you weren’t sure how to take it. “Practice I’m sure you’ll be putting in with Lars.”

“Ahh well yes, but he’s not nearly as good-looking as you,” Taron said, a bit jokingly but also with a note of truth.

“Mmm well this can’t be denied. I at least have better hair than he does,” you teased back, trying to keep things light because they were very much in danger of going a different direction. The tension in the room was as ready to snap as a bowstring. “So, try it again,” you managed, nearly choking on your own words in your haste to distract both of you from that train of thought.

He got a determined look in his eye as he took his stance again, remembering to keep his grip loose, his elbow straight and you couldn’t see anything wrong with the way he was holding his arrow. “Widen your legs,” you said in a bit of a whisper, trying desperately hard to keep your professional composure. “And square your hips with your target,” you added, and you heard Taron suck in his breath sharply at that, but he did what you told him to do and then let go of his arrow, and even if it didn’t strike dead center he still managed to hit the bullseye and fairly squealed excitedly over it.

“Did you see that?!” he giggled, hugging you cutely and having zero awareness of personal space in his excitement. But a huge part of you also didn’t mind at all.

“That was great, Taron! Now we just have to get you to do that every time,” you said with a wink. Your session time was almost up, so you only showed him a couple more things, mostly working on getting him more consistent on controlling his aim, though he asked to watch you shoot four arrows in quick succession again and you were happy to oblige.

“Think I could do that too?” he asked cutely as he helped you collect the arrows scattered about the room and return them to the quivers and the equipment bag.

“I think you could do anything you put your mind to,” you replied, realizing you actually meant it just about his life in general. The smile he returned made your stomach flip slightly; he was probably the most adorable man you’d ever met.

He insisted on grabbing the equipment bag as you grabbed the bows, hooking them over your shoulder as you both exited the training room. You returned the equipment to the front desk and walked out with Taron, who was still hanging around you.

“So same time next Friday?” he asked with a wink as he trailed you over to your car.

“Well that’s up to Lars, I suppose. I’m just his assistant and he needed me to do this as a favor,” you replied.

“Well maybe I’ll make it a special request then, eh?” he asked, smirking at you lightly over the roof of your car. 

“Yeah, sure thing Taron,” you said though you couldn’t help being secretly thrilled by the prospect of training him again.

“I meant what I said, you know. You really were stunning in there. If I could only be half as bloody amazing as you…” he trailed off, his eyes searching yours for something.

“Thank you, I’ve worked on it for a long time,” you said, unable to just ignore the way he’d somehow gotten under your skin with his laugh and his dimples and his unassumingly kind nature.

“Yeah but there’s something else there, a sort of grace you just possess in how you carry yourself too. I just don’t know that I’ve ever met anyone like you,” he replied. Your breath caught in your chest slightly as you stared at him, a whirlwind of feelings bursting through you. “I’ve certainly never enjoyed getting my ass beat by a girl so much as I have today,” he joked, making you laugh too.

“I’ll, um, see you around, Taron, I’m sure,” you said, giving him a smile and mentally kicking yourself for not saying more.

“I look forward to it,” he just grinned back at you as you ducked into your car and took a deep, steadying breath.  _ What the hell was wrong with you?  _ you wondered as you turned your car on and watched Taron walk to his own car. You admired his ass before catching yourself and mentally chiding yourself. You never mixed business with pleasure; things always got far too complicated and you didn’t need the drama. Not only that, Lars had put a massive amount of responsibility in your hands and you weren’t about to let him down by being stupid with a client.

All of that being said, you did wonder if Taron really would request Lars to bring you in again, or if he’d forget about you the minute he and his car pulled away, honking lightly at you as he waved. You waved back, a smile on your face, before you finally put your car in gear as well. Either way, you were going to make sure to keep next Friday open.

**Author's Note:**

> Well loves, hope you enjoyed it! I COULD be convinced to write a second part to this if enough of you ask for it so leave me comments/asks!


End file.
